Not Ready To Put The Book On The Shelf

On January 23rd, 2020, my father, Harry Bryan Sheridan succumbed to his battle with Cancer.  He would have turned 71 years old today.

For those of you who knew him and are finding out now, I apologize that you are finding out this way.  He was the type of man, that if you knew him, he meant something to you.  You shared a moment, a conversation, a bond, and I know that you will miss him too.

He leaves behind a wife, my mother, with whom he shared a love that grew deeper each day of their lives.  Their love and relationship has been the example I always hold in my mind as I build a life with my wife.  They would have celebrated their 40th Wedding Anniversary in February.

He leaves behind two sons, my brother Sean and myself.  He also leaves behind a grandson, Gavin, to whom he loved being his Popa.  He was fortunate to see both sons marry wonderful women, Danielle and Aubrey, and in them welcome daughters into his family.  He was proud to see the friendship between my brother and myself as we both asked the other to be our Best Man.  Neither of us could have asked for a better role model or mentor, and in each other, our father could not have given us a better friend.

My mom would always tell me how she wished I could have known him when he was my age.  She would tell me how she couldn’t begin to describe how passionate a person he was.  Passionate about life, passionate about his family, passionate about his sense of right and wrong, passionate about the environment.  Knowing him as I knew him, I can only imagine what he might have been like when he was younger.  I remember many a heated discussion with him about current events, only for my brother to exasperatedly declare “you realize that you’re agreeing with each other, don’t you?!”  A little of that passion may have rubbed off on us as well.

A few days after his passing, my mother and I were sitting and watching a movie.  I commented on how one of the actors would be perfect to play Philip Roth’s Nathan Zuckerman.  It was an offhand comment made in a room in which I’d made many comments about books with my dad over the more than 25 years of their living in that house.  My mom commented that I was going to miss talking to him about books.  That profound loss hit home and we broke down all over again.

There was no one I enjoyed talking about books with more than my father.  When I came across a book I knew he would enjoy, I couldn’t wait to tell him about it, pass it on to him once I finished it, or have it waiting for him come Christmas, his birthday, or Father’s Day.  His eclectic range of tastes were in a lot of ways mirrored in me.  We shared many a favorite author while our different life paths led us to discover different authors at different times.  We were able to open each other’s eyes to new reads and work together to increase our ever-expanding libraries, and our ever-expanding wish lists.

A few years ago, during one of our conversations about a book, he mentioned this blog and offered me the chance to be a contributor and review some of the books that I’d read.  As he put it, this blog is called “The Sheridan Stories” and I am a Sheridan.  He would have loved to have seen my words on this page and I would love to continue these conversations that have always had a special place in my heart.

My father had a passion for life that was inspiring.  Even during the years when his health deteriorated, he was planning his next adventure.  When his doctor advised against him flying across country to visit my wife and I, he grew excited at the prospect of planning a cross-country train trip with my mom.  As Jimmy Buffett put it, he wasn’t ready to put the book on the shelf.

From time to time, I’ll review a book here that I think he would have loved or talk about something that might have been important to him.  If those who are reading have suggestions of something he might have liked or if something written here makes you think of further reading, I’m always open to the next adventure.

Every time I open a new book, start a new chapter, or turnover a new leaf, written or metaphorical, I will think of him.  During our time together we pulled many books off the proverbial shelf but our continuing conversation isn’t one that I’m ready to put back just yet.

Dad, I’m looking forward to sharing your favorite books and telling you about new ones.  

I love you.

Chris